


Battlescars

by theLiterator



Series: Barry works for the SCPD/Reverse Timeline AU [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Communication, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Suturing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry and Oliver talk, and somehow no one is hurt. (Not that it would matter. Barry heals quickly, after all.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battlescars

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! Actual relationship unfolding here! Thought this would happen sooner, but whatever.
> 
> Written for Olivarry Week on tumblr Day 4: Anything Goes (Free Day!)

“Hey, where’d Barry go?” Cisco Ramon asked as he trailed into the room behind Thea.

“I sent him home,” Oliver said. “You should leave, too. Thank you for looking after my sister,” he added coldly.

“Not a problem, man. I told her she should come out and intern at STAR Labs but she said she hates chemistry, so we were _learning_.” Cisco’s grin was unbearably cheerful.

“Look, my mother is hurt, and I think you should--”

“Honestly, Oliver, I’m fine,” his mom interrupted him. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you growling at that young man of yours. You’d think I’d _died_ with the way you keep carrying on.”

“Mom!” he exclaimed, back at her bedside in two strides. “You’re awake,” he added, grabbing her hand. “Thea, you need to call Walter and let him know she’s awake.”

“Already done, man,” Cisco said.

Oliver spared him a glare over his shoulder, and Cisco made a face at him, though he did have a phone to his ear. “You’re not fine, Mom,” Oliver said. “You have a concussion, and the doctors are worried about your scans. They’re going to keep you for observation for a couple of days.”

His mom snorted. “They’re not worried about my scans, they’re worried about our lawyers. I’ve been through worse, you know. I was in labor with you for 17 hours. You were _breech_.”

Oliver shook his head, trying to pull a smile for her out from under the hundreds of things he was worrying about. She patted his hand. “Go apologize to Barry. Thea and Cisco will keep me company until Walter arrives. I’m _fine_ , but I’m surprised he wasn’t crying when he left, with the tone you took with him.”

“How much of that did you hear?” Oliver asked.

“Enough,” his mom said. “At least, enough to know you weren’t being quite the gentleman I raised you to be.”

“Mom--”

“Don’t you ‘mom’ me,” she said. “I’m kicking you out.”

***

Oliver sat in the basement of the foundry, trying to angle his body around so he could get at the bullet that had lodged itself against his shoulder blade.

It hurt.

_Everything_ hurt, but that didn’t matter, because he knew, now, who had given his name to Chien Na Wei.

He even knew who’d hired her to kill him. (The fact that they weren’t the same person was at least a little reassuring, though knowing that ARGUS had enough ill will toward him to sell his name to the highest bidder was bittersweet.)

He gritted his teeth and twisted around more, almost able to get the forceps into the wound, and then a noise on the ladder made him drop them.

He jumped up and grabbed his bow, ready for--

Well, not what he was facing.

“Hey,” Barry said. “So.”

Oliver sighed and ignored him, picking up the tools he’d scattered and grabbing some alcohol pads to get them cleaned up so he could try again.

“What are you even-- oh, damn,” Barry said, coming closer. “Here, stop that.”

“What are you doing here,” Oliver demanded. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that--”

“I watch the news, you know,” Barry said.

Oliver rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the snap of the rubber gloves as Barry put them on. He’d thought they were finally on the same page. It wasn’t the page he’d _like_ to be on, but that very first night had proved that there could be absolutely nothing between them, and to continue to-- to _pursue_ Barry, even in the guise of it being necessary for their secrets, was stupid.

Cold hands pressed against his back and he flinched away bodily, still not used to being touched at all, let alone by friendly hands.

“It’s okay,” Barry said. “I’ve got a good knowledge of both human anatomy and of gunshot wounds. Hazard of the job, really.” A reassuring squeeze. “I’m definitely a better option than doing it yourself, though Dig might be-- where is Dig?”

“He left,” Oliver said coldly. He couldn’t let Barry in too close; it was a distraction, it was interference, and he knew now that he couldn’t even trust his own _mother_ , let alone some mouthy kid with superspeed.

“Hm,” Barry said. “Well, guess that means you’re stuck with me. Question, did you get everything cleaned up, or am I going to have to lose evidence again? Because I _hate_ losing evidence, and I’m afraid they’re going to start to notice a trend.”

“You’re fine,” Oliver said. He could _feel_ Barry probing with the forceps, and it made him want to shove him away and hide someplace dark and quiet, but-- there was no place safer than the foundry for him, so he was stuck.

“Got it,” Barry said. “I assume you want it sewed up, too? I mean the gaping bullet wound look _is_ the latest fashion trend, but you don’t take off your shirt, so there’s that.”

“Why are you here, Barry?” Oliver asked.

“You mean that a lot more metaphorically than I’m currently prepared to answer,” Barry said. “But I think it’s because-- you need people. You think you don’t, but you do.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Oliver said. “You should go back to Central City; Joe and Cisco both miss you, a lot.” That was one thing he was good at recognizing in people, these days.

“If I go back, they’re going to get hurt,” Barry said, and then there was the pinch of a needle piercing his skin. Oliver wondered whether his stitches would be even and methodical, like the lines in his skin where Shado had taken care of him, or if they’d be haphazard, tugging against the tissue until he pulled them out, leaving a puckering scar reminiscent of some of the worse ones on his skin.

He wondered if it really mattered, given the mess that life and purgatory had made of his upper body.

Abruptly, he remembered that impulse to not let Barry see him shirtless when he’d picked him up at the party. He hadn’t wanted it to be real then.

Too bad, he thought to himself. When does what _you_ want matter?

“You think I won’t hurt you worse?” Oliver asked. “I could have killed you when you came down here.”

“You didn’t,” Barry pointed out. Pinch-pull-pinch-pull. The stitching _felt_ even and smooth, but what would Barry know about proper suturing technique? Then, “Done,” Barry said, and the sound of thread being snipped was followed by Barry lightly patting the wound.

Oliver twisted around and attacked him, dropping them both to the floor, making sure to keep all of his weight on top of Barry. “I _will_ hurt you,” he snarled.

“Lucky for me,” Barry replied, “I heal fast.” He darted up, quick as a snake, and kissed Oliver, who drew back in surprise.

“What--”

“Oh,” Barry said, pouting. “Is that not what you’re doing? I thought you were doing a thing.”

“No!” Oliver exclaimed. “I thought you didn’t want to do this anymore.”

“This? This exact thing? We haven’t done this yet. You tried to have sex with me when you thought I was drunk, and that sucked. And then you pressed my up against a lot of filing cabinets and doorframes and stuck your tongue in my mouth to make Detective Lance angry, which also sucked. But this? This thing? We haven’t done this yet.”

“You don’t want this,” Oliver said with a certainty he suddenly didn’t feel.

“Oliver,” Barry said. “Come on, up. Talk to me.”

Reluctantly, Oliver got up off of Barry, and then offered him a hand, which was met with a blinding grin. Barry was light when Oliver drew him up, but enough taller than Oliver that he couldn’t stand as close to him as he’d like. He suspected that was why Barry was apparently immune to his intimidation.

“So, you got shot,” Barry said. “Anything else exciting happen?”

“My mother paid Chien Na Wei to attack me,” Oliver said. Barry gaped at him, and Oliver laughed without humor. “Yeah.”

“Wait,” Barry said. “Then why did the gunmen threaten her? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“She hired her to kill the Hood,” Oliver said. “And I know who sold her my real name, but that’s an old problem, one I’m not yet prepared to address.”

“Looks like it’s prepared to address you,” Barry said.

Oliver slammed his hand into the table, and then knocked everything off of it for good measure. It didn’t make him feel any better, and Barry didn’t even flinch.

“You know when I was 11, my mom was murdered, right?” Barry said.

Oliver rounded on him, knowing he looked feral, hoping that Barry would just… _stop_. Couldn’t the kid see what he was? Couldn’t he see that there was nothing left here to _save_? There was no way he could miss the scars he’d been trying to hard to keep hidden; the tattoos and the memories and the terror and the pain and the _death_.

“Well, when I was 25, I became the Flash, and the guy who did that to me, well. He helped me a lot. But it turned out he was the one who murdered her.”

Oliver froze.

“I trusted him. I _loved_ him. He was my mentor, my savior. I could always count on him for advice. But all that time, he’d been waiting for me to turn into the Flash so he could save himself. And he told me all of that, too, because he knew I’d still help him, even _knowing_.”

Oliver reached for Barry, then let his hand drop.

Barry laughed a little, this soft, hateful sound that made Oliver want to find this guy and stretch out his death for days. _Weeks_. “He was right. He had the ultimate ace up his sleeve. He showed me how to travel back in time, so I could save her.

“I killed a lot of people; I let a lot of people _die_ for the opportunity to change history. And then I didn’t do it.” Barry shrugged. 

“So don’t think you’re the only dangerous one in the room,” Barry said. “I’m pretty dangerous myself. I can erase entire histories, if I want to. You’re just some guy with arrows.”

“Barry,” Oliver managed. “Barry, where is he?”

“What?” Barry asked, blinking away confusion and the cloud of past mistakes. “Oh. Dr. Wells. He’s dead, and as his last act, he confessed to her murder so my dad could walk free. Because he’s an asshole like that.”

Oliver grabbed for Barry’s hands, missed, caught them on the second attempt. “The hell,” he growled.

Barry wouldn’t meet Oliver’s gaze. “Life sucks, and then you die,” he muttered, staring down at their hands. “That wasn’t my point though. People can be bad people, and still be people you trust. And you cannot _possibly_ hurt me as much as Eobard Thawne has hurt me my entire life, so don’t even try. Also, I’m sure your mom has her reasons for fearing the Hood.”

Oliver blinked at the sudden change of subject. “What?”

“Well, I mean here’s this guy, gunning for rich people. And here she is, her first husband dead, her second husband rich and in all likelihood a target, her son equally so and just _returned_ from the dead. Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you didn’t know who the Hood was?”

“I wouldn’t hire _Chien Na Wei_ ,” Oliver growled.

“Well, no, not her. Obviously you have some history. But what about curare guy? He was neutral territory until he shot Dig, right?” Barry was looking at him again, at least, even if his earnestness was unsettling.

“Maybe,” Oliver allowed. “But what the hell am I supposed to do if my own mother is after me?”

“You could do what I did,” Barry said, shrugging.

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

“You could tell the truth?” he elaborated. “And put on a shirt. You’re all muscular and attractive and I doubt your mother will appreciate the view.”

Oliver blinked and stared down at his chest, at the burn scars and the places the machete had driven through him. He choked on a breath as the memory took him, and then--

Barry’s hands were warm on his shoulders, his voice a low, soothing mutter in his ears.

“It’s okay,” he was saying. “You’re in the foundry, it’s warm and dry and safe, you’re fine.”

Oliver shook his head, caught at Barry’s hand when it slid off his shoulder, squeezing it gratefully.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll talk to my mother.”

“Good,” Barry said brightly. “I’m going to go sleep.” He leaned up and brushed a kiss against Oliver’s mouth, and Oliver reacted properly this time, with a hand cupped around the back of Barry’s skull, with the slightest pressure on his part, sucking Barry’s lower lip between his and closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, Barry pressed his forehead against his and was smiling, a little softer than his usual blinding grin, warm and sweet and somehow _solid_. “See? This way is much, much better. And, as a bonus, it will still drive Lance up a wall.”

Olive couldn’t help but laugh a little at that, and Barry patted his cheek. “I like your laugh. Now, I’m really really leaving, I swear I am.”

“Go,” Oliver said, withdrawing fully. “I need to check on things at home.”

“And talk to Moira,” Barry added.

“And talk to my mother,” Oliver confirmed.


End file.
